My Little Golden Book of Phobias

 I went out dancing and a got drunk, accidentally. Just two Rob Roys and the bartender didn't know what they were. Ha! My lips are numb.

I danced to terrible 80s music. With a bunch of lesbians. Sometimes I have to find my tribe and dance with them. Although one drink would have been sufficient.

Now I'm in my jammies watching a Danish murder detective series. In Danish. With subtitles. How drunk am I, you ask. It all seems like an existential inquiry into the meaning of the brevity of life and the distance between painful birth and painful death. With subtitles. And stabbing. And big sharp knives. And the Beastie Boys.